


Point of No Return

by Salamander



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn With Plot, drunkenness abound, in which I don't care!, somewhat shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamander/pseuds/Salamander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris wakes up back in time, before the mansion incident ever happens and boy is that ever fucked up. In which it's Barry's birthday, there are too many shots, and Chris has no goddamn clue what he's meant to do with all this knowledge that's haunting the hell outta him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyAche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyAche/gifts).



> This spawned directly from one of our favourite RP scenarios and, of course, our love of a good happy ending! As ever, written for my fabulous husband LovelyAche <3333  
> EDIT: as I seem to have completely forgotten to mention it, this fic came to me after multiple listenings of Starset's album - the title and premise is taken from the song "Point of No Return" which I highly recommend! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NTfbLtXTlw Here is a link. Go listen to it and weep!

The past should be unreachable. Like a star seen through a long-distance telescope - bright, almost there, but so far away it might as well not exist for him. So why did Chris keep returning there?  
  
There was something about these dreams - burning, screaming, the flames hot on his face - that felt real. Real as though he was there, looking through glass that near-bubbled from the heat. He'd not had a night of peace since that damned volcano, waking with the scent of seared flesh in his nostrils and the slick feel of tentacles beneath his hand and knife, stabbing, always stabbing to the heart.  
  
He clutched the bed frame, sodden through with sweat. Every fucking night. And what could he do? Watch. Watch it repeat and do nothing. Chris gasped in air, his own voice alien to his ears, then groped around in the darkness for the lamp switch on his bedside table.  
  
He fell off balance when his hand didn't find the switch, faceplanting into the pillows. What the fuck? Chris sat upright abruptly, noticing for the first time that he was in a single bed.  
  
Again, what the fuck? He'd definitely gone to sleep in a kingsize but here he was, in a single bed. And - fuck. There were those hideous old blinds he remembered so well. The dim light came through that one broken slat that'd been there forever. He turned to the side to try and find his cellphone, a last-ditch attempt at pretending everything was normal. It wasn't there. Of course.  
  
Chris swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, wobbling to the tiny bathroom and pulling the cord to flood the room with light. Squinting, he looked in the mirror and yeah, there it was. He reached up a shaking hand to touch his face; smooth cheeks, no stubble, none of those careworn marks and little wrinkles that were now a part of him. Hell, the only thing he recognised as recent was that haunted look in his eyes. That would probably never go away.  
  
Chris clutched the sink, knuckles whitening. "This must be some sort of dream," he said out loud. His voice was different too. What the hell was this sci-fi bullshit?  
  
The phone rang, cutting through his confusion like a knife. Shit! Should he even answer it? Well not doing would probably be worse. Maybe someone would come round to check on him... No. Better answer it...  
  
The phone was large, but portable, and the tinny ringtone cut off when he hit Accept. "Yeah?" he said, trying to sound casual.  
  
"Redfield, why aren't you at work?"  
  
Fuck, it was him. Albert Fucking Wesker. Chris nearly screamed down the phone at him, but managed to get hold of himself. "Uh yeah sorry, I woke up feeling sick. I'll be in a bit later."  
  
"Hmm, very well. Next time, inform me before I have to chase you." The phone went down and Chris just stared at it, incredulous. It was him alright. Fuck.  
  
He slapped his cheek twice then shook his head. "Not much else I can do I guess." Yeah, he'd have to carry on as if he was his own younger self... For now at least. And maybe he could do something about those horrors in his own future while he was here.

* * *

Wesker looked up at Chris over his sunglasses and frowned. "You look particularly well, for someone who woke up feeling sick."  
  
Chris could almost hear the air quotes, but he stifled his annoyance and that insane urge to pull his gun and put the monster down where he sat. "I feel better now," he said simply, heading to his old - no, his actual - desk.  
  
"So I don't need to fill in a back to work form. Good." Wesker turned back to his paperwork and Chris sat down heavily. Fuck. How the hell was he gonna deal with this? Should he kill Wesker, stop all this before it could even happen? Maybe he should shout it from the rooftops - no, that was stupid. He'd be put away in a damned mental hospital or something. Or arrested. Which would be worse? Would it be worth it?  
  
He cradled his head, elbow on the table and not even noticing when Jill appeared next to him and set down a huge mug of coffee on his desk.  
  
"You look like shit," she said, pushing the coffee closer. "Gonna tell me what's up?"  
  
Chris looked up at her, eyes wide. Fuck. Her hair was normal and everything, the old hat in place and God, she looked so young! Had they ever been that young? "Nothing, I'm fine," he replied, knowing that it wouldn't put her off.  
  
Jill snorted. "Yeah okay, and I'm the captain of this place. Come on Chris, you can tell me."  
  
He stared into his coffee. No, he really couldn't. "No seriously, I'm fine Jill. I just had a really shitty night. Bad dreams and… yeah. Really bad."  
  
Jill frowned. "Okay," she said, giving Chris a squeeze on the shoulder. "Just, you know I'm here if you need anything, yeah?"  
  
Chris smiled - the first genuine smile since he'd woken up in this mess. "Yeah I know. Thanks Jill." At least some things didn't change. Chris looked back down at his paperwork, coffee in one hand, and tried to get his bearings as best he could.

* * *

It was exactly a week until the mansion incident. Chris had it marked on his calendar with an M in red, and it just wouldn't stop staring at him. So far, he'd been completely stuck on what the fuck to do about everything - no signs of him popping back into the future or whatever - and now? Now it was Barry's goddamn birthday party and every bastard was gonna be there, including Wesker, the biggest bastard of them all. Chris glared at his reflection in the mirror but it didn't provide any answers. And anyway, it was time to go otherwise he'd be late. Chris straightened his shirt one last time then grabbed his wallet and keys, heading out of the door and locking it behind him.  
  
The party was lively by the time he arrived. Already!  
  
"Chris! Hey!" Jill waved him over from a table where she'd already got the drinks in. Chris grinned at her, determined not to let his situation ruin the night for once.  
  
"You look nice," he said by way of greeting, and Jill beamed at him in return, standing up from the table to give him a twirl. Her dress was sky blue, and the back plunged down right to the small of her back.  
  
"You like it? Got it in the sale and I dunno, I thought it might be too risky you know?"  
  
"Nah fuck that, it really suits you." Chris leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "So what's new?"  
  
"Well, Wesker's already here - still can't believe he actually came by the way!"  
  
Chris' heart leapt at the mention of him, and he felt suddenly queasy. "Oh really? Huh."  
  
"Yeah, guess he must be human after all." Jill laughed, then headed towards the bar with Chris.  
  
Chris tried to stamp down the sick feeling in his stomach and laughed along with Jill, but in all honesty his mind was back in that damned volcano. Even the smell... Oh God. He went white and gripped onto the bar for dear life.  
  
"Shit, Chris, you alright?" Jill pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, anxiously checking his temperature. "You don't feel feverish... You sure you should be here? You've not been well for weeks now."  
  
Chris rubbed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, seeing stars briefly before opening them again. He felt a little steadier. "No, no I'm fine. Just hungry, I think." He rubbed at his belly vaguely.  
  
Jill narrowed her eyes at him, then her face softened in a smile. "Working too hard again, I get it." She took his elbow and firmly steered him towards the buffet table. "Get a big plate down you and you'll be fine."  
  
Chris turned to pick up a plate and rammed straight into Wesker. "Oh, shit!"  
  
Wesker looked down at Chris in that way he had, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards in displeasure. "Forget about it," he said with some effort.  
  
"I'm- oh shit. Sorry captain." There was that roiling in his stomach again and fuck, why did he have to look so normal? So infuriatingly handsome?  
  
Wesker raised an eyebrow. "Outside of work, you may call me Wesker."  
  
Chris felt his jaw drop and hurriedly closed his mouth again. "Wesker, right." God this was fucking weird. "So you're here..." he said, clutching his plate like a lifeline.  
  
"I honestly don't know why people expect otherwise," Wesker replied with a frown. "I am human, you are aware?"  
  
Chris had to stifle a snort of explosive laughter as Jill elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
"Everyone's just excited to see you let your hair down sir- uh, Wesker," Jill said with a grin. Even the idea of Wesker's hair being let down was enough to have Chris shaking with contained laughter. He was almost disgusted with himself for being right here next to his mortal enemy, but here in the past, where none of his future had actually happened yet, it was all too easy to see him as, well, human.  
  
"I'll not pretend to understand what's so amusing," Wesker commented, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.  
  
Chris grabbed onto Jill's arm for dear life, not even managing to stifle his laughter any more. God, but it felt good to just laugh and not have all those worries in his head for even one short moment. It was so far away it'd almost stopped feeling real; just a realistic nightmare by now.  
  
Wiping his eyes, he picked up a sausage roll and dumped it on his plate. "It's not even that funny really," he confessed to Wesker, unable to believe that he was here, having a civilised conversation with the man.  
  
"Hmm. Well I have to say, whatever it was, it's good to see a smile on your face again Chris." Wesker turned his attention to a pasta salad, adding a spoonful of it to his own plate. "You haven't been yourself lately, and don't think I haven't noticed."  
  
Chris looked at Wesker in shock.  
  
"It's a captain's job to notice these things about his team."    
  
Chris probably would have choked if he wasn’t managing to somehow keep a lid on everything. Somehow. "So what's my usual self, anyway?" Chris tried to ignore that strange sensation in his belly. He just needed food, yeah that was it.  
  
"Laughing with your friends, relaxed and confident. No cares, shall we say. And why should you have any? You're a young man at the peak of his career, and my best man at that." Wesker's words were mild, but Chris knew him well enough that he could feel the sincerity beneath them. A memory of those words flashed to the forefront of his mind, though, and he had to distract himself with industriously loading some spicy rice onto his plate.  
  
Wesker finished filling his own, then turned to Chris and clapped him on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Stay the way you are, Chris."

Okay, he definitely wasn't replying to that one. What was he meant to say? Oh sure Wesker, I'll stay a confused guy from the future who's somehow in the fucking past deciding whether to prematurely save the world by killing a lunatic who hasn't even done any of the bad shit yet? Hah. Chris grunted and offered a smile, not really able to manage much more. But as he sat down, the ghost of Wesker’s hand on his shoulder haunted him. Shit, he needed more booze to cope with this.

Barry waved from across the room, and Chris latched onto the opportunity with relief. "Happy birthday!" he said with a huge, only slightly faked grin. "You old bastard."

"Pff, not so old I couldn't kick your damn ass Redfield!" Barry sat down heavily next to Chris and slammed down a pair of pints. "You don't have a drink. Pretty sure that's illegal you know."

Chris grinned back at him and picked up the pint, taking a welcome swig. "Well, let's put that right, huh? Although pretty sure it should be my round since it's your birthday and all."

Barry laughed. "You kidding me? Wesker's set up a goddamn tab, drink wherever you want!"

"He's done- he's set up a tab?" What the fuck.

"Yeah I know. Said it was a thank you for my service and that we all needed some R and R, whatever that is."

"Rest and recuperation," Chris supplied, still shocked.

"Hah yeah, that. Not that it's gonna be much rest with all this booze!"

"Heh, exactly," Chris replied. He laughed with Barry though, feeling the beer take effect long before it would have done when he was in his future. All those years of fighting and drinking had taken their toll, but this body was still young and apparently not used to drinking so much. God, had he ever been so innocent and naive? Apparently so.

Jill came over and sat opposite Barry. "So how does it feel to be old?" She picked at the food on her plate with appetite, devouring each little portion completely before starting on the next.

"Hah, old." Barry snorted into his pint. "Cheeky."

Chris smirked into his own drink and then almost fell off his chair as Wesker joined them at the table. He placed his plate down delicately, followed by his martini. Of course he'd be drinking a fucking martini.

"How are you enjoying the party, Barry?" Wesker asked, before taking a neat bite of sausage roll.

"Oh, uh it's great thanks sir! Uh, Wesker I mean."

"Especially the booze, huh Barry?" Jill grinned at him, tilting her own pint at Wesker in a salute.

Barry smiled. "Damn generous of you, too."

"Yes, well. It's just fortunate that it's a Saturday tomorrow. I won't have to put up with an office full of hungover staff." Wesker looked pointedly at each of them, but there was no real heat in it.

Chris downed the rest of his pint, suddenly feeling the need to get really fucking drunk. "My round," he proclaimed, "and we're fucking having shots!"

Jill groaned, because yeah, the last time they'd had shots she puked all over Chris’ bathroom and eventually fell asleep on the floor hugging the toilet.

"If we must," Wesker said, deadpan. If Chris hadn't known him so well in his future, he would never have realised that was Wesker’s way of joking. So much of his adult life had been spent studying that man, trying to analyse every little goddamn tic.

Did he feel guilty, for what he was gonna do in a couple of days time? Who fucking knew. For now? Shots. And the sweet, forgetful bliss of drunkenness.

The barman was quick with the shots, churning out a whole trayful in record time - even the fancy ones. Chris grinned at him as he made off with the tray, then set it down dramatically in the middle of the table.

"Oh God, is that the Tabasco ones?" Jill pointed at a group of red shots with something ominous floating on top.

"Your favourite," Chris replied with a grin. He picked up one of each, starting with the Tabasco, and passed them round until he, Barry, Wesker and Jill all had six each.

"You tryin' to kill me before I reach the next milestone," Barry grumbled, but he picked up the Tabasco shot anyway.

Chris glanced at everyone, eyes lingering slightly on Wesker before he slammed the shot straight down his throat. "Urgh, that's disgusting," he said through a series of coughs.

"Whoever thought of putting Tabasco sauce in a shot should be shot." Jill scrubbed at her mouth and shuddered. "God Chris, I hope the rest of this isn't so gross."

Wesker picked up a bright blue shot and sniffed it delicately. "Hm," he said, "doesn't smell lethal." He raised the glass as if examining it in the light then necked the shot as though it was a morning espresso.

Chris gaped. He picked up his own blue and downed it too, Jill and Barry following suit until they'd all gone through every shot - even Wesker, who didn't even complain once. What the fuck.

"I shall go get the next round," Wesker declared. He gathered the empty glasses onto the little round tray and headed off to the bar before anyone could say a word.

"Is it me, or was that kinda weird?" Jill watched Wesker’s retreating back in confusion.

“Weird or not,” Barry said, “as long as he keeps the drinks comin’ I don’t give a shit. Hell, he could be pole dancing in front of Chris here in a thong and I’d be happy!”

Chris choked, feeling his cheeks burn red. And fuck, there went those _thoughts_ and that was the last thing he needed. He groaned and attempted to distract himself with a sausage roll as Wesker returned, laden with three trays full of shots.

“You are actually trying to kill us,” Jill commented as Barry stood to help. He slid the top tray off and set it on the table, making room for Wesker to put the other two down. There was a whole rainbow across those three trays, and Wesker handed them all out one by one until himself, Jill, Barry and Chris had a whole array of probably-disgusting drinks in front of them.

Wesker picked up a bright pink shot - this time blessedly without the poisonous-looking red stuff floating on top - and necked it.

Chris followed suit - hell, he was gonna need a fucking lot of drinks to get through this night if Barry kept insisting on giving him those damn thoughts. Goddamn it.

* * *

 It must have been two hours later and yeah, Chris was really feeling the effects of all those shots. Not that he really noticed, considering his general proximity to Wesker. He could barely think straight for the fucking smell of him, right there and up close and yeah, that was Chris’ shoulder pressing right against Wesker’s and the captain - uh, Wesker - didn’t even seem to mind. He was even being… cheerful? Well, about as cheerful as Wesker ever got anyway, but he was definitely cracking a laugh at Barry’s increasingly implausible stories.

Chris took a sip of his cocktail - when had he got a cocktail? - and leaned his head on Wesker’s shoulder, eyes drooping.

“Alright, I think someone needs to call it a night,” Wesker announced, placing both hands flat on the table. The movement jolted Chris into wakefulness, and he looked around, confused.

“Party’s over?” He grabbed Wesker’s shoulder earnestly. “But Barry’s still awake, we can’t go yet he’s gotta drink himself to a stupor right?”

Wesker picked Chris’ hand delicately off his shoulder and placed it into his lap. “I think someone should get you home,” he replied, voice as steady as though he’d not been matching them all drink for drink. “It’s fortuitous that I have contacts,” he continued, though it was pretty much a blur to Chris, who was leaning forward and grabbing for Barry’s hand.

“Barry,” he said blearily, “did you have a good night Barry?”

Barry patted Chris on the hand somewhat unsteadily. “You’re a good man Chris,” he said loudly. “Get some sleep or something, I dunno, follow Jill’s example.” He patted Jill on the back - she was face down on the table, something pink and sticky in her hair as she slept.

“Get yourselves home safely,” Wesker said sternly, pointing at Barry. “I want no casualties, you hear me?” He hoisted Chris up by the armpit, slinging one arm underneath Chris’ until he could comfortably hold him upright. “I shall call a cab for you both.”

Barry nodded vaguely as Wesker turned, fumbling for the cellphone in his back pocket. Wesker struggled with Chris for a few moments before finding his rhythm and finally getting them both outside. A couple of phonecalls later and he’d ordered cabs for both himself and Chris, and for Barry and Jill. No use sending Chris his own way - for all Wesker knew he’d fall out of the cab and get himself killed or worse. No, it would be safer to simply get both of them back to his own place, and more comfortable to boot.

The journey was uneventful in the way that Chris almost immediately fell asleep on Wesker’s shoulder, then woke up violently as they pulled up, demanding a kebab.

Wesker rolled his eyes. “We’ve arrived Chris, there are no kebabs.” He leaned over and helped Chris out of the cab. “I’ve sent the money over,” he told the driver, “it will be with you momentarily.”

The cold outside air hit Chris like a slap in the face and he groaned. “I still want a kebab,” he announced. “It’ll help me, you know, sober up.”

Wesker made a tutting sound as he pulled Chris up the stairs to his apartment. Thankfully, there was an elevator to the penthouse - he wasn’t sure he could drag Chris up all the stairs with him being in this state - and then they were inside.

The apartment was delightfully cool, and Wesker sighed as he dumped Chris on the sofa. A brief trip to the kitchen and he returned with a glass of water and some hangover cure pills he’d had laying around in a drawer forever. They were nothing but unreactive alka seltzer in a flashier package, but they couldn’t hurt. “Chris, take these.” Wesker handed the packet to Chris and set the glass down on the glass coffee table beside the sofa.

“Take what?” Chris squinted suspiciously at the box.

“They’re for your inevitable hangover,” Wesker replied with a sigh. He took the box and popped out four of the pills. He swallowed two himself and chased it with water, then turned his attention to Chris. “Open your mouth.”

Chris obeyed, watching as Wesker placed the two tablets on his tongue and held the glass of water to his lips. He swallowed, and Wesker smiled. “Good.” He set the glass back down and sat on his haunches in front of Chris. “Now what are we going to do with you, hm?”

Chris’ eyes widened, and he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, until his nose nearly touched Wesker’s. “I know,” he said, traces of slur gone from his voice even if just for a single lucid second.

“You have an idea, you mean?” Wesker crooked an eyebrow.

“I know everything,” Chris replied, the memories flooding back. Fire and smoke, lava and oh god. “I know what you’re gonna do,” he mumbled, slumping back against the sofa, defeated. “An’ I can’t do anything.”

Wesker shook his head. “I think you’ll find yourself perfectly capable.” He moved closer, leaning over Chris with a smile hovering on his lips.

“Why are you always like that?” Chris stood up suddenly, the movement throwing Wesker off balance slightly. He took a step backwards as Chris advanced; and then Chris’ palms were flat against the meat of his shoulders, shoving him back against the wall with a thud. “Every fucking time, so goddamn smug and- goddamn it!” Chris clenched his fingers in the material of Wesker’s shirt, wanting nothing more than to slam his head against the wall and see it split open - to kiss that fucking tiny-ass smirk from those lips.

With a tilt of his head, Wesker made the first move - taking Chris’ mouth with a ferocity that surprised even himself. Perhaps all those shots had had more of an effect on him than he’d first thought.

Chris’ sound of surprise was muffled by Wesker’s mouth and he kissed him back, sloppy and rough, hoping that it hurt as much as it felt good. He came up for a breath, then sunk his teeth into Wesker’s bottom lip. It was possible that he tasted a hint of blood, but Chris was so distracted by the thigh pressing insistently against his groin that he couldn’t tell either way.

Wesker reached up and tangled his hands in Chris’ hair, tilting his head back so he could bite at his collarbone, along his jawline. Chris moaned at his ministrations, partially with frustration; of course Wesker would be dominant, even when Chris was basically on top of him.

A growl escaped Chris’ lips and he wrenched his head away from Wesker’s lips and teeth. He pushed him hard against the wall, Wesker’s head smacking against it with a thud. “Oh, you are not winning this one,” he growled, bringing up a hand to circle Wesker’s throat. God, it would be so fucking easy, so easy to just kill him there and then. Tighten his fingers and just choke the damn life outta him. What would even happen if he did? Well, that fucking knee wouldn’t be pressing so insistently against his groin for one.

Wesker tilted his head and levelled the full intensity of his stare at Chris. “Unless you’re going to do something with those fingers, may I suggest moving them further down?”

Chris shivered, but obeyed. He drifted his fingers down the length of Wesker’s chest, pulling apart buttons as he went until his red shirt lay open. Chris just stared for a second, flashbacks of writhing black tentacles hitting his mind for a second before being replaced with a sudden rush of desire. He fumbled with Wesker’s belt before managing to get it open, pulled down his trousers just enough that the neat black boxers were revealed. And shit, Wesker was already as hard as Chris felt.

He trailed his fingers over the bulge of Wesker's dick, appreciating the hardness of it straining against the soft cotton. There was a strangled noise from Wesker, and Chris looked up at him through lidded eyes. "You really do want me, don't you?"

"A foolish question, considering the evidence." Wesker curled his hand at the back of Chris' neck and pulled him in for another hard kiss. "Now stop teasing me."

Chris smiled, a little evilly perhaps. "Oh, am I frustrating you?" He never would have been so bold if he wasn't drunk outta his mind, but now wasn't the time to really be dwelling on that. And anyway, all that booze had done wonders to dispel those unpleasant memories - futures? - and they were leaving him be for a blessed few moments. Perfect time to just enjoy, right? To stop thinking for once in his goddamn life.

All the thoughts were driven from his head when Wesker took matters into his own hands, so to speak, sliding his hand deftly down the front of Chris' pants to rub a palm against his dick. Chris groaned, head falling forwards to lean against the meat of Wesker’s shoulder. Shit.

Wesker unfastened Chris’ pants and roughly tugged them down, exposing bare skin which prickled in the sudden cold draft. He took hold of Chris' dick, then, gliding his hand down the length of it until Chris moaned.

"Shit, Wesker!" Chris hissed against his skin. It was almost too much and they hadn't even got anywhere significant yet. Wesker smiled, eyes fixed on Chris as he played with his strokes - faster then slower, hard and soft grip. It was getting harder to just stand there, however. With a sudden movement, Wesker turned them both around so that Chris was the one pressed against the wall. One hand pulled Chris’ leg up and around his waist while the other teased him; swirling a thumb across the slit then down his glans, feeling the hardness of it, and the slight slickness already beginning to pool.

Chris lifted his other leg, pressing his back hard against the wall for support as he wrapped it around Wesker's waist too, locking his ankles together. He arched against Wesker's touch, clinging to him for dear life as he worked him over. Shit, it felt so damn good. Chris moaned, feeling pleasure pooling in his stomach. "If you're not careful I'll come right here," he managed to get out between panted breaths.

Wesker almost purred. "Maybe I would like that," he replied, bending his head to suck Chris' collarbone. He raised his head again, an intense look in his eye. "Or perhaps I would like something different." With a quick movement, he steadied Chris with both hands and swung around, pacing the steps to his bedroom without even a hint of difficulty.

Chris watched, wide-eyed, as Wesker near threw him on the bed, crawling on top of him like he was a delicious meal. "Not what I expected," he said, breathless. This was turning into less of a quick fumble against the wall and more like a lengthy fuck session, by the looks of things.

“Hmm, well a lot of things aren’t what we expect,” Wesker replied. His voice seemed huskier to Chris, and much more intense. Maybe it was the lust or something, but shit he sounded good.

Chris shivered, and Wesker smiled a wide smile. He bent to Chris’ torso, pulling off his shirt deftly until Chris arched underneath him, aching for more touch.

Wesker obliged, running both hands up Chris’ chest and settling them at his nipples, idly toying with them until they stood up in response. Chris moaned, bucking under Wesker’s touch.

“Come on, you’re not just gonna tease me all night are you?” He reached down between them and took hold of Wesker’s dick, pumping it a few times with his hand and enjoying the silky hardness of it.

"The very idea fills me with pleasure," Wesker moaned, "but I think for both our sakes I will, ah, get on with it." He leaned over momentarily, fumbling in the top drawer of his bedside cabinet before emerging with a pump bottle of lube. Before Chris could even make a comment, Wesker had unfastened his pants and pulled them off. Chris shivered from the sudden chill, but it wasn't as bad as the cold, startling wetness of the lube Wesker pumped onto his fingers.

Chris yelped, but Wesker ignored it, focusing his very singular attentions on circling Chris’ ass then pushing an insistent finger inside. Now that? That was uncomfortable, and Chris squirmed under Wesker's ministrations right up until he curled his finger and hit some spot inside him that made Chris see stars and shit, that felt fucking good. He arched, and Wesker smiled above him like a predator.

"That's it Chris, relax," he purred, "and now another one." Wesker pushed in another finger before Chris had time to protest.

"Shit," he murmured, one hand dropping to curve around his dick. He stroked himself for a second before Wesker took a firm hold of his wrist.

"Ah-ah," he admonished, "I don't want you coming just yet."

Chris groaned with frustration, gripping the quilt instead as Wesker added a third finger.

"I'm not a damn virgin," he hissed, "just fuck me already!"

Wesker tilted his head, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "Hm, unexpected." He pulled his fingers out then spent an agonising minute slicking his dick while Chris watched, impatient. Finally satisfied, Wesker shifted position enough that he could nudge the head of his dick right against Chris entrance before sinking all the way in until his balls were hot against Chris’ skin.

"F-fuck," Chris gasped. And okay, normally that would have felt good, but not so...startling? Then the realisation hit him; in this time and place, he'd never had sex with another man. Shit. He grabbed onto the quilt with one hand and Wesker's hip with the other, steadying himself and trying to just breathe until his body caught up with what his mind knew so well.

Wesker was blissfully unaware of the whole internal shit going on with Chris, and it wasn’t worth bringing it up, so Chris just went with it. And besides, he was too goddamned drunk to even conjure up the effort, let alone the fact that, well, he just didn’t want to. All in all, while he _really shouldn’t be doing this_ , Chris was fucking enjoying himself. Wesker’s dick in him was so… primal somehow. Chris’ head fell back against the pillow and he just enjoyed the sensation; Wesker was hot inside him, and so damm thick that he felt almost uncomfortable. Thank god for deep breathing.

Chris looked up at Wesker, then, wonder on his face at the sight above him. Wesker was sweaty, his hair dishevelled, and holy shit he was so hot. Chris lifted a hand and brushed some stray hairs out of Wesker’s eyes, then arched his back as Wesker sunk deeper into him. “How is that even possible?” he gasped, “h-how?”

Wesker smiled, then bent to kiss Chris deeply. “You can wax lyrical about my sexual prowess afterwards, Chris,” he murmured against Chris’ lips, “but for now, just enjoy it, hm?”

“You’re an arrogant bastard,” Chris growled. He swatted Wesker on the shoulder, then grabbed onto both his hips. “You wanna show me your _sexual prowess_ or you just gonna fuck me like a virgin?” Chris smirked, digging his fingers into Wesker’s hips.

Wesker gritted his teeth in a predatory smile, then shifted their positions so that he was kneeling higher on the bed then pulling Chris’ legs over his shoulders. The angle was perfect, and Chris felt the air being driven from him as Wesker plunged deeper and harder, breathing harder from the effort of it.

Chris couldn’t bring himself to let go of Wesker, just clinging to him for dear life while he was fucked into the bed. It creaked under their weight and movement, and Chris just moaned, his voice raw from it. Wesker gripped the underside of Chris’ thigh with one hand, then brought his other down between them and stroked Chris’ dick in time with his thrusts until Chris saw stars and he came with a yell, convulsing under Wesker as his orgasm ripped through him.

A single grunt was all that fell from Wesker’s lips, and he sunk himself as deep as he could into Chris, hips jerking until the last of his come pumped into Chris’ ass. Wesker took careful hold of Chris’ hips before pulling out with a slight wince. Chris hissed at the sensation, then flopped backwards bonelessly.

“Shit,” he moaned, dabbing at his sticky stomach.

“I agree,” Wesker replied. He laid out next to Chris, his long, lean body so fucking perfect and oh god, Chris was fucked, wasn’t he?

He turned to Wesker, ignoring the sharp ache in his ass and yeah, the hot wetness making its way down his ass cheek as he moved. Chris sighed. “There’s something I gotta tell you,” he began, reaching out to touch Wesker’s hair again. Why did this all have to be so fucking complicated? Ugh.

“I believe you already said,” Wesker replied, but there was no heat in it. He reached up and took Chris’ hand in his own. “Speak, then.”

Chris took a shaky breath, squeezed his eyes closed. “I’m um… I’m from the fucking future, okay?”

Silence. Chris cracked open an eye, peering at Wesker and scanning him for a reaction.

“Go on.”

“What, that’s it? I say I’m from the future and all you say is ‘go on’? You’re unbelievable.” Chris snatched his hand away from Wesker’s, sitting up abruptly. “I’m from the _future_ , Wesker. Meaning I know all of your fucking shitty plans, okay?”

Wesker crooked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Chris almost wanted to scream, to punch him directly in the nose, anything to get him to actually goddamn react. But instead, he took a deep, steadying breath and continued. “I know about the mansion, okay? I just… I know everything. The virus, the BOWs, Umbrella. Everything.” He levelled his gaze at Wesker, suddenly feeling tired. So fucking tired.

“Interesting.” Wesker’s mouth pulled sideways in a thoughtful grimace. “And you’re here because, what, you intend to stop me?”

Chris just laughed, bitterness lacing the sound throughout. “I’m here because I fucking woke up here, that’s why.” He bowed his head, fingers pushing at the corners of his eyes wearily. Suddenly, all the alcohol seemed to have left his system. “So yeah, I don’t know why I’m here and let me tell you, it’s pretty disorientating…”

“I can only imagine.” Wesker reached out as though making a decision, and took hold of Chris’ hand. “What is your heart telling you to do, Chris? You always were someone who worked best when they followed their heart, so that’s my advice to you I suppose.”

Chris looked at Wesker with wide eyes, tempted to pull his hand away and reach for the gun he was sure must be somewhere in this goddamn bedroom. But instead, he left it there, fingers curling with tension against Wesker’s palm. “I don’t know, okay? I just don’t fucking know.” His throat was thick with emotion. “After this, after tonight… could you still go through with it? Even knowing that… that I know?”

Wesker frowned, eyes fixed on their hands. “I cannot say,” he said, finally.

“What if I told you what happened?” Chris’ words were earnest, and he pulled Wesker’s chin up so that he could look him directly in the eyes. “You were… you were a monster,” he said, simply. The brutal truth, that was all he could do, right? “You die, at the mansion. Then you came back… come back as a monster. Infected, just like all those brainless BOWs. But you… you change, Wesker, and it’s like I never fucking knew you. How could you do it?” There were tears, then, and Chris’ eyes stung with the effort of blinking them away. Of all the times to cry, he had to pick now!

“Infected? Hm, that would be William’s prototype, I imagine.” Wesker looked directly at Chris, his eyes so fucking blue that it hurt. “And you say it destroyed my humanity? Though I still lived through it?”

“That wasn’t life!” Chris squeezed Wesker’s hand without even realising he was doing it. “That was… I don’t fucking know, but it wasn’t living, I can tell you that. You had to inject yourself every goddamn day just to stay in control of it, Wesker! Not exactly a life, is it?”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. So what else, then? There must be more, surely?”

“More?” Chris laughed bitterly. “Yeah there’s more. You hatched this stupid fucking plan for world domination or whatever, like a goddamn comic book villain.” He rubbed at his eyes again, dashing away the angry tears. “And then I killed you. You were a mess, Wesker. Tentacles everywhere, like an oil slick or something.” Chris shuddered visibly; there was that smell again, haunting him. “You took an RPG to the face in a volcano. Some James Bond shit right there.”

Chris felt Wesker’s hand stiffen around his, but the expression on his face was unreadable. Was that… anger? Sorrow? God, who fucking knew. “This is… it’s too much, Wesker. I gotta get outta here.” Chris pulled away from Wesker, pushing himself up and off the bed. Sudden realisation that he was completely naked and covered in not only his own come but also Wesker’s, dripping out of his ass, was just too much. He turned and took three or four quick paces into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and taking a minute to just _breathe_ , forehead pressed against the large bathroom mirror.

There was rustling from the bedroom, and a quiet knock at the door startled Chris out of his stupor. “Are you alright in there?” Wesker’s voice was clipped as usual, but Chris detected a hint of something else underneath it.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just gonna wash up, if that’s okay?” Chris reached over and unlocked the door, allowing Wesker to push it open and step inside. He watched through the mirror as Wesker came in close, then, surprisingly, put both his arms around Chris.

“I imagine this never happened, in your past,” he said softly, eyes meeting Chris’ in the mirror.

Chris just shook his head, leaning back into the warmth of Wesker and hating himself for it at the same time.

“I know you’re not here for a purpose, but I wanted you to know that your words haven’t fallen on deaf ears.” Wesker’s face was serious, and he held Chris’ gaze with intention. “Whatever the man you know was… or whatever he turned out to be, that will not be my fate, you can count on it.” His jaw was set and Chris could feel the tension coiled in him through the hardness of his body. “I refuse to become a monster for some ridiculous notion like world domination,” Wesker continued, his voice dripping with hatred at the very idea. “And I refuse to put you through the experience of having to kill me.”

Chris; eyes widened and he slumped back against Wesker, believing him with every fibre of his being. Was he being stupid for believing him? Maybe it was naive, to think that his words had enough sway to change Wesker’s mind, but maybe… maybe it had actually worked. “You mean that?” His voice was shamefully shaky, but Chris couldn’t force it to be any steadier.

“Do you think I wish to turn into one of those slobbering, mindless animals?” Wesker snorted. “I would rather die than become that, no matter what semblance of control I seemed to have over it. And your words about injections? Hah. Clearly any control I had was a fine way of lying to myself. Forget one of the injections, or overdose, and then what?”

Chris swallowed. “That’s… that’s what we had to do. You overdosed and it… yeah.” He bowed his head, gripping tightly to Wesker’s forearm.

Wesker made a soothing noise, holding Chris tighter. “Hush now, it’s all over.” He brought one hand up and rubbed little circles into Chris’ scalp, right at the base of his neck. “It’s not going to happen.” He paced them backwards until they reached the shower. “Now come, let’s get you washed up, hm?”

Chris let out a little laugh of relief, mingled with disbelief. “Just like that? It’s not gonna happen, and that’s that? The mansion and everything… just… what am I going to do? What if…” A thought struck him then, like a leaden weight. “What if I wake up back there tomorrow and you’re dead all over again?”

“You’re here Chris, right now. As you know, I am a believer in science, so I cannot yet explain how it is possible, but there is no possible way you could have known about the mansion and the virus without living the life you tell of.” Wesker turned Chris so that he could cup his face, tilting it upwards to look into his eyes. “And believe me, I can see it in your eyes that every word you speak is the truth. You have truly lived that life, so perhaps… perhaps this is your reward or something similar. I’ll not pretend to understand it, but I do intend to take full advantage of the fact that you’re here and in my arms.” He bent and pressed a kiss to Chris’ bottom lip. “I have wanted to do that since the day we first met, and now here we are.”

Chris’ eyes slid closed and he melted against Wesker, the future forgotten for now. “So, about that shower?” he murmured between tiny kisses.

“Perhaps we need to get even more filthy, to make it more worthwhile.” Wesker slid his hand between them and found Chris’ dick, stroking it gently to hardness as he kissed Chris, slower than before, and more sensual, as though he was savouring the feeling of soft lips against his own.

Chris moaned, hips jerking towards Wesker helplessly. “God,” he breathed, “how can you even think about sex after all this?”

“You just do these things to me, Redfield,” Wesker murmured, voice a little harsh. “The times I’ve laid in that bed thinking of you, oh and you thinking me so cold and emotionless, hm?” He chuckled deep in his throat. “Well how about I show you just what I think of you?” Without waiting for an answer, Wesker sunk to his knees on the fluffy mat and took Chris’ dick in his hand, pressing another of those little kisses to the slit.

Chris gasped, hands flying to Wesker’s hair without realising it, clutching onto him for dear life. “It’s still dirty,” he protested weakly.

Wesker just chuckled and licked a line across the top with great relish. “And now I shall make it dirtier. I don’t suppose you ever thought to see me like this, did you? On my knees before you, your dick in my mouth?” To emphasise his point, Wesker took the whole of Chris’ dick into his mouth in one long, clean motion.

Chris nearly choked as his dick hit the back of Wesker’s throat and god, how could one man look so hot yet so refined at the same time while sucking a dick? Chris was glad for the sink unit behind him, because he had the feeling his legs were going to give out if Wesker carried on with that; deep, long motions, pulling all the way off and then back down again with relish. Chris had no words, all he could do was breathe with it and just enjoy because god, Wesker looked so wanton and perfect down there at his knees that he could barely breathe. The sight basically short-circuited his brain as much as the feeling of his dick in all that hot wetness, Wesker’s skilled tongue teasing him to a much quicker orgasm this time.

Chris made to move away, but Wesker’s hands were firm on his hips, holding him in place until he was finished, hips jerking erratically as Wesker pulled off him.

Eyes not leaving Chris’, Wesker licked his lips like a satisfied cat, not a drop had escaped, of course, and Chris shivered bodily at the sight. “Sh-shower?” he asked, not entirely sure that he could stand unaided.

Wesker chuckled, his voice deep and satisfied, and the sound made Chris’ stomach curl with joy. “I think a nice long bath would be more suitable, don’t you?”

Chris nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Meanwhile,” Wesker said as he reached over to turn n the hot tap, “I shall prepare something to eat.”

“You’re not coming in the bath too?” Chris scanned all the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and various other things he couldn’t even begin to identify. Of course Wesker would have so many products in his bathroom.

“Later,” Wesker replied. He plucked one of the bottles and poured a generous helping under the running water, then straightened to kiss Chris in the hollow under his ear. “The alcohol has left my system now and I find myself hungry. Would you like pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” Chris repeated. Was he hearing things?

“Yes, pancakes. You do have them in the future, right? Flat, round things, excellent with bacon and maple syrup?”

Chris swatted Wesker on the chest. “Shut the fuck up of course we have pancakes. I just can’t believe you’re offering to make me some!” The thought was still processing - Wesker cooking, flipping pancakes while wearing nothing but an apron - Chris’ brain nearly short-circuited. “Yeah I’d love some,” he said finally, dipping one hand into the fragrant water. “With bacon and syrup?” he added, hopefully.

Wesker just looked at him as though he was stupid. “Is there is another way to eat pancakes?” He opened a cupboard and produced a towel, handing it to Chris. “Now soak, I shall fetch you when they’re ready.” He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder at Chris. “And don’t you go overthinking things, Redfield. That’s an order. I know how you can get if left unchecked.”

A snort. “Yeah yeah, get on with making uh… early breakfast,” Chris retorted, neatly closing the door behind Wesker. Shit, could this get anymore surreal? Well, no more surreal than his future self fighting a fucking monster in a volcano, anyway. Chris stopped himself in that thought - that was not going to be his future any more, not if he could help it. And, strangely… he trusted Wesker. The disgust on his face, the emotion he showed… that told the story clearer than any words or promises could.

Maybe this was his point of no return after all. And really, that was all Chris could ever have hoped for.


End file.
